


The Chronicles of Dai Ou-sama and a Stressed Iwa-chan

by lilyxb, Osprey_aw



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Character Death, Coffee, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Mafia AU, Oikawa's suit, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rated For Violence, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyxb/pseuds/lilyxb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osprey_aw/pseuds/Osprey_aw
Summary: Oikawa is the overbearing gang leader he's always dreamed of being. Iwaizumi is his perennially stressed second. Everyone lives normal lives - most of the time. But slowly, cracks form and things start falling out of place, secrets become harder to keep and Oikawa learns that he's losing the control he never really had.Everything is fun and gamesuntil it isn't.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Oikawa Tooru & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	1. Akaashi-san’s Coffee Shop for Wayward Volleyball Players

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi is actually the main character in this chapter. We don't know how this happened. Enjoy your coffee shop AU!

Oikawa pushed open the door and stepped into the room, sunglasses still perched on his nose and a hand buried deep in his pocket. He pulled the glasses off and tucked the leg of them in the front of his shirt, allowing them to hang there, as he strode forward and threw himself down into a chair. He let his head loll against the back of the chair, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. He heard the door open further but didn’t bother to open his eyes to check who it was - he already knew who it would be.

“How did it go?”

He hummed a noncommittal noise and received a cushion in the face in reply. Grabbing hold of the cushion and placing it behind his head, he resumed his position and closed his eyes again. 

“My suit is ruined,” he groaned, running a hand through his rumpled curls, sprawling long limbs over the arms of the chair and casting sad eyes over in his friend’s direction. 

“You idiot! Again? We’re not made of money, you know. If you’re going to burn through them so quickly, can you at least not insist on buying such expensive designer-” Iwaizumi tensed, twitching slightly as if trying to hold back from lunging over at Oikawa. 

“Iwa-chaaaan, you just don’t understand. Those are integral to my image. And what do you mean we’re not made of money? If I really want, I could get these for free, I just want to keep giving back to society, you know? I’m a good person, Iwa-chan! And now my favourite suit is ruined, destroyed, murdered!” Oikawa huffed, tugging at a loose string by his shirt cuff. 

“Yeah, sure you are. The Great Oikawa-sama, who gives ridiculous amounts of money to huge conglomerates already so rich in blood money that they really need that extra support.” Iwaizumi snorted, but took the bait anyway - Oikawa would never shut up if he didn’t at some point. “Go on then, I can tell you’re desperate to tell me - what happened?”

“You need to help me plan my revenge, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined. 

“And why should I do that?” Iwaizumi raised a questioning eyebrow. “If you’re that upset about it, why don’t you change into one of your other suits and hand that one over - I can get it cleaned.”

Oikawa’s eyes lit up at the offer and he began to take off the suit jacket, folding it over his arm before doing the same for the shirt and proffering them to Iwaizumi, leaving him standing in his vest and suit trousers (for all he loved suits, Oikawa hated wearing ties). Taking the garments from his _friend’s_ arm, he shook them out to assess the damage. 

As he turned the shirt and jacket over in his hands he felt himself getting progressively more agitated. Finally, he looked up and glared at Oikawa.

“There’s literally nothing wrong with these,” he deadpanned.

“You don’t understand Iwa-chan! Everything is wrong with them! They’re completely ruined.”

“Well could you please explain to me how a perfectly intact and clean shirt is somehow _ruined_?”

Oikawa flopped dramatically back down into the chair, raising his forearm to cover his eyes and mumbled something that Iwaizumi couldn’t make out.

“What was that?” he asked, tapping his foot on the floor as he gradually lost patience.

Oikawa removed his arm from his eyes and gave him a long-suffering look. 

“Tobio was wearing the same suit!” he announced dramatically, as if his world was crumbling around him.

Iwaizumi stared at him a moment longer and then promptly dropped both items of clothing on the floor and left the room. 

\---

Kageyama Tobio was just your normal college student. Absolutely and completely normal. He played for the college volleyball team, studied when (and only when) his deadlines forced him to, and had no clue what to major in. Sunday mornings always found him in the coffee shop closest to his apartment, desperate for the pure caffeine that is the only liquid running through any college student’s veins. 

The soft, fragrant smell hit him as soon as he shoved open the little shop’s door, surrounding him with the promise of imminent _liquid gold_. The coffee here was the best in the whole of the city - its owner made sure of that.

“Akaashi-san! Please give me as many shots as you can fit into a mug.” Kageyama slammed his card down onto the counter, dark eyes unable to look away from the beans the black-haired man was delicately roasting in the back of the store. 

A soft sigh and a slight shake of the head greeted his outburst, “College students - you’re all going to kill yourselves like this.”

If Kageyama were a more perceptive person, he might have noticed one side of Akaashi’s lips twitch up ever so slightly.

“I won’t give you more than three, you need to sleep more Kageyama-kun,” Akaashi admonished, reaching over to tap Kageyama’s card against the reader, before handing it back over with a hard stare. 

Grumbling and blushing under the coffee-shop owner’s focused gaze, Kageyama mumbled about having been really busy over the weekend with _stuff_. Always vague, always so exhausted on Sunday morning, always a little mused - and not in a good way - Kageyama Tobio was an enigma that Akaashi worried about reading too well. 

“You seem particularly tired today; did something worse than normal happen?” Akaashi set to freshly grinding a generous scoop of coffee beans. The soft rumbling of the machine and the rich aroma soothed the twitchy college student. 

He set a cup down on the counter and Kageyama snatched it up, taking a sip of the _liquid sleep_. 

“There was a volleyball tournament,” Kageyama responded, when he had finished inhaling his coffee. 

“There can’t have been. You played in a tournament two weeks ago and I know there can’t have been another one so soon. I used to play you know.” Akaashi cast a troubled eye over the younger man. 

“It was a friendly tournament.” Kageyama shrugged noncommittally. 

Akaashi sighed. He really didn’t want to pry, but he was concerned about the young man. The dark circles under his eyes were becoming more pronounced with each passing week and the other day Akashi had found him passed out at one of the tables in the coffee shop, his face plastered to the keyboard of his laptop. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he was concerned.

“Come on, I may only serve you your coffee every morning, but I know how you act when you’ve been playing volleyball. It’s the only time you don’t ask for coffee. I swear you sustain yourself on exercise-induced endorphins for twenty-four hours.” Akaashi rubbed a hand across his face, and mumbled under his breath almost low enough for Kageyama not to hear, “and believe me when I know what it looks like when a guy is being sustained on pure adrenaline _permanently_.”

At that moment, as if by some sort of divine providence, the bell on the door of the coffee shop clanged as the door was forced open with far too much enthusiasm.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” Akaashi purposefully turned away from the door and began to busy himself grinding coffee beans, though Kageyama saw him visibly wince when the door slammed on its hinges. 

Jerking his eyes up from where they’d been gazing longingly into the empty cup, as if, by force of will alone, he could refill it with life-giving coffee, Kageyama took in the man who had just entered the cafe. The loud bang of the door was somehow eclipsed by the sheer loudness of the man who’d made it (even though he was yet to speak). His very presence screamed _‘look at me’_ , from his styled hair to the stance he took, with his hands on his hips as though he owned the ground he was walking on. 

Kageyama couldn’t control the gasp of surprise that slipped out. “Bokuto-san?” he spluttered. His exclamation almost drowned out by the booming greeting of the strange man.

“HEY HEY HEY!!!!!” His dual-coloured hair was so spiky it almost seemed to reach the ceiling when he rocked forward onto his toes and proceeded to advance towards the counter.

Akaashi resolutely showed no signs of having heard Bokuto at all. Instead he zeroed in his gaze on Kageyama, having heard his cry of surprise. 

“Kageyama-kun, you know this _lunatic_?” Akaashi’s voice was cold and cut straight through the bustle of the cafe. Kageyama tore his eyes away from the newcomer and pinned under the dark gaze that met his, gulped audibly. “I’m really sorry Akaashi-san, I’ve got to dash, I have a meeting with my tutor - erm right now.” 

Kageyama looked down at his wrist as if to emphasise his lateness (Akaashi noted that he wasn’t actually wearing a watch). Then all that was left of him was a swinging door, and a rush of cold wind. Akaashi shook his head in amazement; that boy really could run. 

“Bokuto-san, I wonder if you happen know why Kageyama-kun has college classes on a Sunday? Since you two seem to know each other so well?”

He turned his attention to the exuberant man before him, who was now fidgeting back and forth, clearly uncomfortable about something. The change in his aura was dramatic. Far from the optimistic and dominating presence he had presented when he entered, he now looked almost melancholy. His hair seemed to be drooping and he was casting his gaze at the ground, as if he suddenly found his shoes very interesting. 

Akaashi sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning and began to spoon some green tea into a teapot. Despite the fact that he found Bokuto incredibly annoying and would much rather he didn’t randomly invade the calm of his coffee shop, he was still a frequent customer and came in so often (much to Akaashi’s dismay) that he had his order memorised. Not that it took too much effort to do so, as in spite of his spirited personality and loud presence, Bokuto didn’t actually drink any coffee. So, Akaashi carefully poured the boiling water over the tea leaves and then slid the teapot and a cup and saucer over the counter toward the fidgeting man. Then he held out his hand expectantly - Bokuto was also the kind of person who paid in cash. 

The coins dropped into his hand and he put them in the till, before leaning forward on his elbows and fixing Bokuto with a stare. The other man had yet to look him in the eye. 

“So what brings you here today?” Akaashi asked as he rounded the counter to collect some of the empty cups scattered on the tables. 

“Ah, it’s just close to where I work?”

“Really? I thought this was mainly the student area of the city.” Akaashi began to stack the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. As much as this idiot annoyed him with his almost constant energy and lightening fast mood changes, he was a loyal customer and it was fairly early in the day, so there weren’t too many other patrons in the small shop he could talk to. He hadn’t received a reply to his last statement, so he tried again.

“So, you know Kageyama, hmn?” 

Bokuto once again looked resolutely anywhere but Akaashi. 

“I’m just curious. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy who’d end up mixing with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The exclamation came with some of his usual energy, but then he just seemed to deflate more than before. 

God this guy was annoying. “I mean, fair enough, he's not exactly the most organised of kids, but he still seems to be mature for his age. You on the other hand - I wouldn’t put it past you to still be a college student.” 

“I have a job!” 

“I wasn’t disputing that, although you still won’t tell me what it is.” 

“Why should I?” Came the petulant reply. 

Akaashi raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Your tea has been brewing for a while now, by the way. If you leave it much longer, it’s going to get way too strong.”

Bokuto immediately snatched up the teapot and poured himself some of the steaming liquid. 

“You know what, I honestly can’t believe you have a job. Whoever hired you must either be very brave or very stupid.” 

“How about both?” Asked Bokuto, some of the mischief returning to his eyes. 

“Pft, well whoever they are, I pity them.” 

\---

Somewhere else in the city, Oikawa sneezed. 

\---

Kuroo slammed a steaming cup of coffee down on his partner’s desk. 

“Careful Kuroo! These documents are very important. I know you never bother with your paperwork, but at least some of us have to suffer to keep the higher-ups happy.” Daichi sent his friend the patented Daichi-Disapproving-Stare, which had served him well in his many years in the police service, against co-workers and criminals alike. However, despite his admonishments, Daichi groaned appreciatively when he took his first sip.

“Ah! The dreaded DDS! The Stare of Justice!” Kuroo floundered dramatically and Daichi almost threw the cup at his head, but unfortunately acts of violence were frowned upon in the police force (and he did really want that coffee). 

“Loosen up Daichi! I was just trying to do something nice for our struggling sergeant, who had to stay up all night to work on that new case he won’t tell anyone else about.” Kuroo’s smirk was almost permanent, but somehow he managed to make it look concerned. 

Daichi’s responding sigh was muffled as he’d buried his head into the endless towers of paper surrounding him. Daichi was no small man, but he sometimes he wondered whether he was being swallowed up by the consequences of his recent promotion. 

“This new case is just a big one, and the informant we have needs a lot of protection which we’ve been struggling to organise, and it requires a ridiculous amount of legal paperwork.” Daichi takes another deep swig of coffee. “Thanks for this. I owe you one.” He cast an appreciative smile over at Kuroo.

They’d been working together for several years now, with Kuroo joining the force less than a year after Daichi. They were a great team, with one of the highest success rates in the area; Kuroo’s easy-going personality balanced Daichi’s seriousness, and, though they didn’t spend that much time outside of work together, Daichi would trust his partner with pretty much anything. 

But this new case just didn’t sit right with him.

“Kuroo, there’s something strange about this new case. I need you to swear to me you will keep this absolutely confidential, no matter what, from absolutely everyone - Kenma included - alright?” Daichi levelled his eyes at his friend, trying to gauge whether Kuroo would actually take this seriously. 

“Daichi, if it’s something that terrible, why have you been trying to bottle it up? That much stress isn’t good for you, you know? Just because you’ve been promoted, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to ask for help any more. We’re a team, Daichi- _senpai_.” Kuroo reached forwards, making grabby-hands motions, his smirk softening into a gentle smile. 

“Yeah, of course we’re a team. Sorry Kuroo, sometimes I just get in my head a bit when I read this kind of stuff you know. You’d think after so many years in the force, you’d become jaded to it.” Daichi shook his head, and handed over one of the files. 

Kuroo flicked through the thin file in silence, absorbing the information. He let out a weary sigh, lowering the paper to catch Daichi’s equally tired gaze. “A smuggling ring? We’re a small city, I didn’t think there would be something like this here - something as big as this?”

“It gets worse,” Daichi said, handing him a much thicker folder. 

Kuroo’s trademark smirk disappeared as he scanned through the papers, brow furrowing deeper and deeper as he read. “This is the missing persons folder for the last six months. Have you worked out the connection? They’re involved in this smuggling ring? How could we have missed something this huge?”

“I don’t know.” Daichi rubbed his forehead, exhaustedly. “I really don’t know. And we would still have been in the dark without this informant.” 

“Who are they?” Kuroo leaned forwards, clearly intrigued.

“I can’t say, because I don’t even know exactly who they are. Everything’s being kept so hush hush - it’s really strange.” Daichi drained the last of the coffee and tossed it perfectly into the bin beside his desk. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Daichi. Watch your back on this one.” Kuroo warned, hand slapping down hard on his friend’s shoulder. 

There was a knock on the office door and both heads swivelled towards it at once. The door opened, and a head of silver hair poked through the gap. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. The guy on the desk at the front said I could come through.”

Daichi’s anxious expression softened when he saw who was at the door, and Kuroo’s smirk returned. 

“Well, I’m going to go and get lunch. Make sure you actually eat something today, Daichi.” Kuroo raised his hand in a small wave. 

“Don’t worry,” the newcomer chimed in. “I don’t intend to leave until I’ve made sure that he’s eaten something.”

“Thanks,” Kuroo clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder as he left the office and swung the door closed behind him. 

“I appreciate the concern, but you honestly don’t have to worry so much, Suga. I’ve been eating, I promise.” Daichi began to collect together the files on his desk, so he could slip them back into his drawer and out of sight. 

“Daichi,” Suga’s voice was reprimanding. “You haven't been home in over twenty-four hours and I know for a fact that you didn’t bring any food into the office yesterday. You can’t live on coffee and energy bars.” 

Daichi knew it was no use arguing. 

Suga raised the paper bag he was holding in his hand and placed it down on the desk. He set down a paper takeaway cup next to it and then proceeded to pull a bundle of fabric out of the satchel hanging off his shoulder. 

“Here - I brought you some lunch,” he said nodding his head towards the paper bag on the desk. “Oh, and I also stopped off at that coffee shop you like so much - no I didn’t get you more coffee, I can literally see the three empty mugs on your desk - it’s tea, and I grabbed you a muffin while I was at it.” 

Now that Daichi thought about it, he was rather hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since last night, and that had just been a cereal bar and the banana that he’d left in his desk draw.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, as he reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich. Suga smiled at him as he watched him eat and then, remembering the folded fabric in his arms, set that down on the desk too. 

“I also brought you a change of clothes. I thought you might want to freshen up a bit.” He gestured to the pile of fabric, that Daichi could now see was one of his spare uniforms. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Daichi asked. 

Suga didn’t respond, he just came around the desk and planted a kiss in Daichi’s hair. Although, when he backed away he winked. “A shower wouldn’t go amiss either.” 

“I take it back!” Daichi grouched, as he swatted at the hand Suga was trying to place on his shoulder. Suga laughed, and Daichi resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t be mad at him. Then in a more serious voice he said, “thank you though. I’m glad you came.” 

Suga searched his eyes and saw the worry in them; the deep-seated anxiety that had been present in the creases in his brow and the circles under his eyes lately. 

“Can I help?” He asked, genuinely. 

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m sorry, this is still too confidential to talk about,” Daichi let out a breath. “I swear I don’t want to hide this from you, it’s just -”

“No, I understand,” Suga smiled. “If the most I can do is bring you lunch and a spare shirt then that’s fine by me. I’ll leave all the hard stuff to you and Kuroo.” He paused and placed both of his hands on Daichi’s shoulders, beginning to massage them gently. He was behind Daichi, so the other man couldn’t see his face, and didn’t see the frown that formed on his mouth or the furrowing of his brow. 

“Daichi -” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. Daichi turned around in his chair to look up at Suga, although the other man had already schooled his expression. 

“What is it?”

Suga stilled his hands, but didn’t remove them. “It’s just -” He let out a shaky breath. “From the way you’re acting, this seems to be really bad and I just - please be careful, alright. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

Daichi stood up and wrapped his arms around Suga, letting him rest his head under his chin. He wasn’t going to back away from the case, nor was he going to stop investigating it, despite the obvious risk involved. But in that moment, as he felt the soft breaths on his neck, all he could manage to say was: “alright.”

\---

_Tonight we are victorious  
Champagne pouring over us  
All my friends were glorious  
Tonight we are victorious_


	2. Volleyball-bakas and Where to Find Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama gets annoyed, Kenma comforts Kuroo, and Oikawa sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! Enjoy!

“Nice kill!”

Kageyama lowered his arm, wiping sweat from his brow. He rubbed at his shoulder; it was a little sore from the recoil. His line of sight hadn’t been completely clear, so he’d been worried about his accuracy. 

Though Oikawa-san always praised him (begrudgingly) about it, he knew it was something he needed to keep sharpening. It was never enough. He still wasn’t fast enough. 

“You totally destroyed them, Kageyama-kun. Clean work!” Kindachi slapped him on the back, his grin not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s absolutely ridiculous how you can be so good at everything.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled. The silence had been cloying since his last shot, broken only by the soft noises of shoes against the ground. He reinvisioned the shot he’d made; could it have been straighter? Faster? More accurate? He couldn’t let himself slip - that prospect was too dangerous.

The trajectory tracked itself out in his mind’s eye - it was good, but not perfect. Oikawa-san’s would’ve been perfect. He growled softly, brows furrowing. 

He resigned himself to asking (begging) Iwaizumi-san for more advice the next time saw them. The stoic man seemed the more abrasive of the two, but, most of the time, Oikawa-san’s almost perpetual smile was as fake as his words. Everything about that man was dangerous. Kageyama shuddered a little at the thought. 

Voices filtered back into his consciousness. 

“One more! Come on Kageyama. It’s you again.” Kindaichi yelled over at him from his position up front. 

“I can’t believe Kageyama always gets the kill. I’m just as good! I’m faster!” Hinata whined, pointing an accusing finger at Kageyama. 

The accused young man didn’t deign to reply, just lined up his aim, going for for a particularly difficult shot that he’d been practising recently. His vision tunnelled down to the narrow target, pinpointing his mark, the weakest member of the opposing group. 

He took another deep breath to centre himself, and tightened up to make his move.

“Oh just get a fucking move on, Kageyama. Serve!” Tsukishima complained from up by the net.

“Stop distracting him Tsukishima! Can’t you see that he was in the zone,” Kindaichi defended, the two jostling with each other. 

“Kageyama is probably just a little nervous!” Of course Hinata needed to get himself involved. 

Kageyama could feel a headache forming, and wondered if Akaashi-san would believe him tomorrow when he said it was volleyball again that was making him so stressed (well, more like the idiots he was unfortunate enough to call his teammates). 

Choosing to ignore both Hinata and Tsukishima, he lined up the ball again and prepared to do another jump serve. 

When he was playing volleyball, the rest of the world seemed to fade away; there was only him, the ball, the net and the other players. He didn’t need to think about anything beyond the white lines that enclosed the court. 

Raising his arm, he tossed the ball into the air in front of him, taking a few strides before he pushed off from the ground. 

He only had a few precious seconds, if that, in the air to hit the perfect serve, so he narrowed his gaze onto the player currently crouched on the left hand side of the opposition’s side of the court. 

He hadn’t been receiving well during the match, and Kageyama intended to use that to his advantage. 

His palm connected solidly with the ball, and he felt the residual sting it left behind, as he watched it sail over the net. His feet touched down on the ground and he sprinted up the net, in case he needed to set, if the ball came back. 

But before he reached the net, he heard the telltale sound of the ball hitting the floor of the court - the dull, echoing sound that always seemed to ring too loudly in the ears of the losing team.

He looked through the net to meet the wide-eyed stare of the opposition blocker. Behind him, three other players were lying on their stomachs, on the floor of the court, arms outstretched, yet just not reaching far enough. 

There was a jubilant yell from behind him, and he turned his head in time to see a small orange blur fling itself towards him. He raised his hands in a defensive position, trying to ward off the incoming onslaught, but instead the orange blur took it as an invitation and kept coming towards him, arms raised in the same position. 

Then, suddenly, the orange hair disappeared, and there was a snicker somewhere to his left. 

Hinata climbed back to his feet, and glared at Tsukishima, who still had one of his feet slightly outstretched. 

“Oops.” Tsukishima’s patronising smirk turned up the corners of his lips. 

Hinata evidently had decided in that moment that tackling Tsukishima was more important than high-fiving Kageyama, as he changed his trajectory and flung himself towards the blocker. 

“That last serve was good,” Kindaichi piped up, giving Kageyama a grudgingly impressed look. “You’ve definitely nailed your jump serves.” He offered Kageyama a smile, which wasn’t returned.

It was fine to get praise for that last serve, but what about all of the ones before that, the ones that hadn’t earned them points? He had lacked consistency, that’s what Oikawa would tell him. It’s all well and good taking down one target, but what about the other twenty-four that were left standing?

Kindaichi’s smile faltered at Kageyama’s lack of response; it was almost as if he hadn’t seen him at all. He was looking straight at him, and yet Kindaichi felt as though he was just looking straight through him. 

“Oi, Ou-ji! Time to line up!” Kageyama was shocked out of his reverie by the mocking voice and the taunting gaze behind glass lenses. 

Kageyama grit his teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You certainly act like it - you just completely ignored Kindaichi. Or is it just the fact that I called you Ou- _ji_ that’s annoying you. Would you rather I called you _Ou-_ ”

Kageyama was about to retort, when another equally annoying voice broke in.

“How come Kageyama-kun gets to be the Ou-ji? That’s not fair! All he does is serve and set and spike - occasionally.” No one bothered pointing out that Hinata had just proved his own point wrong.

“Hey! Hey! Kageyama! We have to line up!” Hands snached at his bib and began to drag him towards the back of the court, forcing him to continue his glaring match with Tsukishima while being marched backwards. 

Tsukishima broke off first as he sauntered towards the line, but there was something in his smirk that made Kageyama feel as though he had still lost, though he wasn’t even sure what exactly he was losing. 

Once the formalities were over, they disbanded in order to clean up the hall and put the equipment away. But, as Kageyama moved towards the cupboard to retrieve the mop for the floors, he heard a voice call out from across the hall to him.

“Oi, Kageyama. Meet me at the lockers when you’ve finished cleaning.” Tsukishima held a water-bottle in his hand and had a towel draped across his shoulders. Kageyama was still irritated and was about to decline the invitation, but then he noted that the smirk that typically graced the taller boy’s features had been replaced by a frown and he was giving Kageyama a knowing look. 

He gave a single nod in Tsukishima’s direction and then turned back to the cupboard only to find a shock of orange hair under his chin. “Hey, dumbass, move out of the way.”

“No!” Hinata resolutely held his ground. “I’m not letting you go.”

“I need to go and get the mop to clean the floor. Let me into the cupboard,” Kageyama ground out. 

“You can’t go. It’s very irresponsible of you and I won’t let you do it.”

“You won’t let me mop the floor?” Kageyama looked at the smaller boy incredulously. 

“No! I’m not going to let you fight Tsukishima!” Hinata planted his hands on his hips in front of Kageyama giving him a stern look. 

There was a snort from Tsukishima. “Why the hell would I fight him? It wouldn’t be fair to bruise his ego that much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kageyama shot back. 

“But - but,” Hinata swiveled his head between the two of them. “Tsukishima said he wanted to meet you by the lockers - I thought he was - I mean you two were arguing?” 

“You idiot, I want to give him my lecture notes.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes. 

“Dumbass, will you let me move now?” Kageyama’s hand shot out to shove Hinata out of the way. 

“Oh.” Hinata dodged backwards and then paused again. “Kageyama, you do law?”

“No, I’m in sciences, dumbass.”

Hinata looked even more confused and cocked his head to the side. “So, why are you doing Tsukishima’s class? Does he do science too?”

“No, he does law. You just said that,” Kageyama says, his eyebrows furrowed, his blue eyes almost hesitant as he caught Tsukishima’s accusing glare. 

Tsukishima scrubbed his hand over his face. “We’re in the same psychology class,” he said. 

“No we’re not.” It was Kageyama’s turn to look confused. 

“Ha, there’s no way Kageyama would be in psychology,” Hinata laughed.

“Look,” Tsukishima was beginning to get really annoyed; his brow was creased and his brows were drawn down in an exasperated frown. “I don’t care. Just meet me at the lockers when you’re done.” With that he turned and left the hall. 

Clean-up took longer than it should have done, as Hinata wouldn’t leave Kageyama alone after Tsukishima left. He kept asking which class they shared and, when the black-haired boy denied that he took any of the same courses, eventually settled on the theory that Kageyama was being tutored by the blond and followed him around the hall for the next half an hour teasing him about it. 

Kageyama finally managed to shut the smaller boy up when he snapped and pointed out that at least he’d passed his classes last term, unlike a certain _someone_.

Finally abandoning Hinata to put away the last of the equipment, he escaped the hall. 

When he reached the locker room, he found Tsukishima leaning against his locker, an envelope in his hand. 

“This is for Oikawa-san.” He handed over the envelope. Kageyama took it from him and began to break the seal on the top. 

“Woah there.” Tsukishima’s hand gripped Kageyama’s wrist. “It’s for Oikawa, not you.” 

“Shouldn’t I check what it is?” Kageyama challenged. 

“And why would you need to do that? Oikawa asked me for it, and that’s all you need to know.” Tsukishima took his hand from Kageyama’s wrist. “I don’t care if you think that you’re important. If Oikawa-san wants to tell you what it is, then he will. Otherwise, it’s between me and him.” 

“You really think he won’t tell me?” Kageyama didn’t like the fact that Tsukishima was trying to lord this privileged information over him, as if he was too insignificant to be worth telling. 

“How am I supposed to know? I suppose you’ll find out when you go-” Tsukishima was interrupted by another unfortunately familiar voice.

“Go where?” Hinata asked, poking his head round the corner of the lockers. 

“Dumbass, mind your own business.” Kageyama glowered at Hinata who seemed to shrink slightly before him. 

“I wasn’t going to leave until I made sure that you two weren’t going to kill each other,” he squeaked out, now pinned under both Kageyama and Tsukishima’s equally enraged glares. 

“Tell your little lackey to go home,” Tsukishima jerked his thumb at Hinata. “And don’t take too long, if you want to catch the shop before it closes.” He picked his backpack up and slung it over his shoulder, putting his headphones over his ears and leaving the changing room. 

Kageyama pulled open his locker and shoved the envelope into his bag.

“Ooh, are you going to get food? I’m really hungry!” Hinata bounced along beside him. 

For the rest of the walk, Kageyama couldn’t seem to shake him off, no matter what he tried. Hinata followed him all the way to the shop, despite the fact they passed many other stores he could have bought food in on the way there. He seemed still convinced that if he left Kageyama and Tsukishima alone together they were going to start fighting again.

Kageyama finally saw the light of the shop doorway ahead of him, and Tsukishima leaning against the doorway. When he saw Hinata, he raised his eyebrow at Kageyama. 

The message in his eyes was clear: _what on earth do you think you’re doing bringing that shrimp along with you? I told you to send him home. Do you want Oikawa-san to kill you?_

Kageyama grit his teeth, raising an eyebrow in reply, as if to say: _do you think I had any say in this matter?_

Tsukishima sighed, shrugging his shoulders and casting one last glance, laden with apathetic indifference, at Kageyama, as he slipped into the shop: _well, it’s your funeral._

Kageyama grunted in annoyance; he had no idea how Tsukishima knew how to push every single one of his buttons, or why the blond boy enjoyed it so much. They’d been butting heads all year since Oikawa had first introduced them. 

“Do you think I don’t know that, asshole?” he grumbled quietly to himself.

“What was that?” Hinata’s head popped up in his vision, orange hair so bouncy, it swayed with every excitable movement he made. It would almost be cute, kind of puppy-like, if Hinata himself weren’t _so damn annoying_.

They entered the shop together and Kageyama cast a quick, surveying look over the small convenience store: Tsukishima was nowhere to be seen.

_Damn it, the van’s here already._

Kageyama glanced over at Hinata who was gesturing excitedly at the meat-buns on display, hands plastered against the glass of the case, eyes shining with desperate, postgame hunger. 

Hoping he was distracted enough, Kageyama caught the gaze of the shop owner, and jerked his head sharply in Hinata’s direction. _Distract him_. The grumpy-looking man nodded lazily in reply.

Kageyama hoped he’d actually understood the look he’d given him; he really didn’t need Hinata finding them mid-drop, just being here at the shop with them was already too close for comfort. 

Kageyama slipped out through the backdoor, carefully closing it tightly behind him. He breathed out a sigh of relief, only to startle in shock as a hand slapped down on his shoulder. Twisting around, he saw nothing until he looked down: spiky black hair with the tiny tuft of bleached blond at the front.

“Nishinoya-san?”

“Why are you always so damn formal, Kageyama? I’ve told you so many times, call me Noya- _senpai_.” Nishinoya pulled himself up to his full (small) height, and puffed out his chest.

“Noyaaa, are you trying to get the gullible youth to call you senpai again?” Tanaka laughed loudly from the dark van, his head stuck out of the window where he’d clearly been having a conversation with Tsukishima. 

Nishinoya rounded on his partner, “what’s wrong with me requesting they call me by my _deserved title_?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you want, Nishinoya- _sama_.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide the accompanying smirk. 

“Alright, that’s quite enough snark from you, young man!” Nishinoya grumbled, hands on his hips, shaking his head dejectedly at Tsukishima. “Honestly, the disrespect of the youth nowadays.”

“Nishinoya-senpai, you’re only two years older than us,” Kageyama pointed out.

“Ahh, Kageyama, I always knew there was a reason you were my favourite.” Nishinoya grinned, carefully ignoring the second part of what Kageyama had just said, before stretching out a hand at each of the college students. “C’mon then, hand it all over. We need those false IDs, Tsukishima, and the case you got from your last mission, Kageyama.”

Everything was exchanged with no more fuss. Business was business. 

“Kageyama, Oikawa-san will be in contact soon with your next kill. Tsukishima, here’s a token of our appreciation for your continued _support_.” Nishinoya handed over a slim envelope to him, gave the much taller youth a pat on the head (no one commented on quite how much he had to stretch up to do so), and vaulted into van. 

“Same time next week boys!” Tanaka called out, as he pulled the van out of the alley, reversing the van around the corner at an angle that had both boys wincing slightly, glad they weren’t in the passenger seat this time. 

_How have they not been pulled over by the police yet?_

Tsukishima turned to the dark-haired teen beside him. “So, what did you do with Hinata?”

“Errr…”

\---

Hinata stared at the glorious display of meat-buns before him. He inhaled their rich smell, and his stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl. Gazing seriously at them, he carefully appraised which was the biggest. 

“Want one of those, kid?” The shop owner had come over, casting an assessing look over the youth. 

“I’m not a kid!” Hinata pouted, somehow making himself look even younger.

 _I wonder what Oikawa-san wants with this kid?_ Ukai thought. 

Admittedly, he’d been a little confused at first when Kageyama had brought this kid in with him and Tsukishima while they were doing their drop. But after the look those serious, blue eyes had given him, Ukai had been reminded of the call Oikawa had dropped him a few days ago. 

He was pretty sure this was the kid. But damn, Oikawa was picking them younger and younger. 

“I’m almost nineteen!” the tiny, orange-haired kid protested, hands slamming down on the counter. “Now give me some of those meat buns!”

 _Nineteen? Ah, that makes more sense, this kid’s gonna make a damn good decoy._ Ukai tapped his chin thoughtfully, his fingers itching for a smoke. _But how to train him? He seems way too naive…_

“Mr. Shopkeeper? Hello?” 

The kid was waving a hand in front of Ukai’s face, the other insistently pointing at the meat-bun case. Ukai couldn’t quite work out how someone could be so adorably annoying. Training this one was going to be a long slog. 

“Alright kid, how long have you been hanging out with Tsukishimi and Kageyama?” Ukai asked, needing to get a rough estimate on how much he might already know.

“We’ve been training together since this year started!” Hinata cocked his head to one side, looking confused. “Why ask that, Mr? All I want are those meat buns.” 

_Nine months already? Damn this kid must be hiding some serious talent. He seems so innocent._ Ukai considered his options. If this kid was already training with Kageyama, Oikawa’s golden boy, he might as well start his training with Kindaichi. 

“Listen kid, I have a proposition for you.” Ukai reached forwards and slid a piece of paper across the countertop over to the puzzled-looking boy.

“Mr, I really just want some meat buns…” Hinata looked surprisingly suspicious of him - maybe not so naive after all. 

“Come to that address three days from now for some more specialised training. Trust me, we’ll get you as good as Kageyama in no time.” The shopkeeper smirked, crossing his arms over his chest confidently. 

Hinata’s whole demeanor changed in an instant. No longer hesitant at all, his eyes were wide with burning fire, his small body almost vibrating with excitement.

“More training?!” Hinata gave a little fist pump. “The others are always so stingy with extra training! They always leave me alone to do it myself.” The words were spilling out so fast, it was difficult for Ukai to keep up. “This is so exciting, Mr. Shopkeeper! Thank you so much! I will see you in three days! I didn’t know you used to play volleyball! What time? I can do any time that’s good for you!”

“Oh uh… 6pm sound good?” Ukai was a little bowled over by his unexpectedly enthusiastic reaction. He’d never had anyone so fired up by the prospect of doing something as serious as training before. 

The kid was already gone with a jump and a whoop of excitement before Ukai clocked what else he’d said in that tangled mess of a reply. 

_Wait… Volleyball?_

\---

Kuroo dragged his weary feet up the stairs of the block of flats he lived in. To hell with living on the seventh floor and the lift being out of order. 

He pulled his keys out of his pocket once he reached the door. There were several keys on the ring, though most of them were for things in his office at work, and he leafed through them to find the right one, before slipping it into the lock. The eyes of the little cat charm he’d hooked onto the keyring after Kenma had bought it for him a few years ago looked at him dolefully. 

“Yeah, me too buddy. We can sleep soon,” Kuroo muttered, as he tried to stifle a yawn. Then he paused with his hand still in front of his mouth. _Great_ , he thought, _I’m so tired I’ve started talking to key-rings._

Shaking his head, he tried to turn the key, but it seemed lodged in the lock and it wouldn’t turn. His eye twitching he tried the handle of the door, only to find that it hadn’t been locked. _Of course he didn’t lock the door, he never does._

Sighing, Kuroo retrieved his keys and stepped into the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

There was a soft meow from his feet and he looked down to see the small white kitten that was weaving itself in between his legs. He reached down to scratch under her chin and she closed her eyes in contentment, purring at the attention. Kenma had seen her one day in an advert for a rescue centre and had insisted he and Kuroo go and get her. Kenma was also the one who had named her, and unfortunately it had stuck. 

“Hey, Kuro,” he cooed at her. Yes, that name caused no end of hilarity for his boyfriend. Speaking of which-

“Kenma,” he called out questioningly. When there was no reply, he kicked off his shoes and went in search of his elusive boyfriend. 

He slung his work bag onto one of the chairs at the small kitchen table and looked over the kitchen counter towards the open plan living area. He could just see a tuft of two toned hair sticking up over the back of the sofa. 

Chuckling to himself, he washed his hands in the kitchen sink but didn’t dry them on the towel laying next to it on the bench. Instead, he kept some of the water cupped in his hands and began to creep towards his boyfriend. 

When he reached the sofa, he shook out his hands flinging drops of cold water on the back of Kenma’s neck. 

Kenma gave a startled jump, letting out a little squeak as he dropped the game controller he’d been holding and ripped off his headphones.

“Hey,” he grouched, rubbing at the back of his neck and giving Kuroo a reproachful look; the taller man was now clutching his stomach as he laughed. “Not funny.” 

“Ha, that was hilarious! What was that adorable sound you made?” Kuroo reached out to poke Kenma’s forehead. 

“Nope,” Kenma dodged his hand. “I’m not talking to you anymore.” He shoved his headphones back on his head and picked up the game controller. 

“No, no. I’m sorry!” Kuroo pouted at the back of his boyfriend’s head. Well, if Kenma was going to ignore him, he’d just have to force him to pay attention. 

He noted that the blanket he had washed the day before was still draped over the back of the chair. He retrieved it and then threw himself down next to Kenma on the sofa. Kenma continued to try and ignore him, but it was hard when he’d just been bounced sideways on the sofa and was now being pulled backwards onto his boyfriend’s lap. 

He still didn’t say anything to Kuroo, but he also didn’t try and escape, so Kuroo took that to mean that he was forgiven. Reaching for the blanket, he proceeded to wrap it around them both, making sure to tuck in Kenma’s toes so that they didn’t get cold. 

It was warm and comfortable and familiar, and Kuroo could feel himself beginning to relax.

Then a loud bang sounded from the opposite wall of the apartment. Followed by a series of crashes and a yelp. 

“Oi, Lev. Keep it down!” Kuroo hollered towards the wall. _Honestly_ , he thought, _if Yaku didn’t live with that kid he’d have destroyed that apartment by now._

\---

It was 2am. Kuroo glanced over at Kenma, curled up in the bed beside him. The red glow of the alarm clock was casting soft shadows across his relaxed face. Kuro reached out a hand to gently play with a dangling lock of blonde hair and, immediately, Kenma’s nose scrunched up in annoyance.

“Stop it, Kuroo,” he mumbled, batting a lazy hand in the general direction of Kuroo’s face.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Kuroo whined. “Keep my insomniatic ass company.” 

Kenma sighed and flipped himself over to face his boyfriend. “How did you even know I was awake? I thought I could fool you into letting me sleep for once.”

Kuroo reached out and pulled Kenma closer to him, smiling a little when he felt Kenma relax into his embrace. “When you’re really asleep, you always crawl closer to me ‘cos you hate being cold.”

“Do you always watch me sleep, Kuroo?” Kenma grumbled, pulling his head back so he could look Kuroo in the eyes and level a glare at the other man. When he saw Kuroo’s answering pout, he relented and snuggled back into the embrace, curling his arms around Kuroo’s back as he did so. The only reply was a low chuckle. 

“What’s bothering you?” he whispered against his boyfriend’s chest. 

The question made Kuroo stiffen for a second, his hands tightening just a little in Kenma’s hair, the tension shivering through his body. He turned his face away.

The silence in the bedroom was broken only by the soft howling of wind outside. A storm was brewing. The birds screeching was sharp with warning. 

“Kuroo, tell me.” The demand was followed by a sharp tug of Kuroo’s ear. 

“Kenma, you’re so blunt sometimes.” Kuroo sighed fondly, turning back to face Kenma’s gold eyes that almost seemed to glow in the darkness. “Some things you’re better off not getting involved in.”

He refused to say more. Even when Kenma sat up sharply, duvet falling from where it’d been wrapped tightly around his shoulders, he refused to say more. He would not put Kenma in more danger than he already insisted on being in. 

“ _Tetsurou._ ” His name was layered with meaning. Kenma didn’t like to use a lot of words, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t saying much when he did speak. 

Kuroo tried to pull his boyfriend down back under the covers. Kenma got ill easily if he got cold. 

“Kenma, don’t be like this. I promise you, it’ll all be fine. It’s just something I’m working on at work.”

“Work or _work_?” Kenma refused to budge, his body taut with tension, his eyes not leaving Kuroo’s. 

“...both.”

The blond man drew in a sharp breath, his hands reaching out to grab Kuroo’s tightly. “How bad?”

“Bad.” Kuroo didn’t like lying to Kenma, and sometimes it was just impossible.

“Is it linked to Yaku being missing?”

Kuroo’s mind whirled. He sat up quickly, the shadows pulling his features into blackness. “What do you mean, Yaku’s missing?”

“He hasn’t been replying to mine or Lev’s messages for the last two days. I thought you knew.” 

The two looked at each other for a long moment. Something like fear hummed between them. 

“Do you think something bad’s happened to him?” The duvet twisted and wrinkled in Kuroo’s tight grip. 

“I don’t know. Has Oikawa-san said anything?” Kenma traced soft circles over Kuroo’s tense hands. 

“Oikawa doesn’t ever tell me anything. All the information just goes straight to him.” Kenma noted the slight bitterness in the statement. 

“Will it help Yaku if Oikawa-san knew about this stuff you won’t tell me about?” Kenma didn’t care much about all this gang bureaucracy - he just wanted Yaku back. Being worried about him had made him unfocused and terrible at his games all day. 

There was nothing else really that Kuroo could do by himself. Telling Daichi would be an absolutely terrible move. Daichi was already too close to everything. Just another thing to worry about. 

Despite the bitter taste in his mouth: “yes.”

“Ok. Call him tomorrow.” 

Everything was simpler from Kenma.

“Ok.” 

The tension was bleeding back out of him. Kenma’s small hand tugged at his t-shirt, pulling him wordlessly back to bed. Kuroo went willingly. 

They both slipped into quiet sleep as the first splatters of rain rang against their windows. 

\---

Kuroo really didn’t want to make this phone call. Didn’t want to think about the possibilities and he didn’t want to think about the fact that, instead of doing something proactive to help his friend, all he could do was make a phone call. 

He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for and then, hesitating for a moment, pressed the button to dial it. 

The ring tone sounded a few times before someone picked it up.

“Hello, this is Iwaizumi.”

“Oh thank God.” Kuroo breathed out a sigh of relief. “Is Oikawa not there right now?”

“No,” came the reply, “he’s, erm, busy right now, so I’ve been left to man the phone lines.”

“Great, I’d much rather talk to you.” Kuroo lent back into the chair, shooting a look at the bedroom door to make sure Kenma was still asleep. He didn’t want to wake him by talking too loudly. He already felt bad for keeping him awake during the night. 

“Is that so,” Iwaizumi sounded amused. 

“God yes,” Kuroo replied. “I can never talk to the guy for more than a few minutes without getting annoyed. I don’t envy you, that’s for one.”

Kuroo heard a soft chuckle over the phone. “Well, life’s never boring, that’s for sure.” Then his tone became more serious. “So, why did you call? I can assume it wasn’t just to vent your Oikawa-frustration at me, as much I’m enjoying this.”

“Yeah, I called because I wanted to ask you about Yaku.” Kuroo heard the door of the bedroom opening and saw a bleary eyed Kenma emerge, cradling Kuro in his arms, with his hair still rumpled from sleep. Kuroo motioned to the phone and he saw Kenma nod, before he headed towards the kitchen. 

He set the cat down on the floor as he reached for the tap to fill the kettle and she prowled round the edge of the kitchen counter, before promptly leaping into Kuroo’s lap. He lifted a hand to scratch behind her ears and she settled down over his knees, purring contentedly as he threaded his hand through her fur. 

“What about Yaku?” Kuroo turned his attention back to Iwaizumi. 

“We haven’t heard from him in a few days - we’re getting a bit worried,” Kuroo admitted, making eye contact with Kenma who was holding a steaming mug in his hands, his sleeves pulled over his hands, so that only the ends of his fingers poked out. 

“Oikawa sent him on a job, is he not still working on that?” Iwaizumi asked.

Kuroo shook his head, before remembering that the man on the other end of the phone couldn’t see him. “No, he always stays in contact with us. We’ve never had radio silence before. It’s weird.”

Iwaizumi hummed down the phone. “I’ll let Oikawa know and we’ll see if we can track him down.”

“Thanks,” Kuroo said. He didn’t like the inaction of the situation, but there was nothing else they could do right now.

“Don’t worry too much,” Iwaizumi advised him, and Kuroo almost snorted at him. How was he supposed to not worry? 

“Yeah, I’ll try,” he said. “Oh - and before I forget, I have something else I need to report, but I think it’s best I do that in person.” 

“Ah, okay. I’ll ring you back and let you know when to come in,” Iwaizumi said. 

“Okay, speak to you later.” Kuroo heard Iwaizumi mutter a goodbye, before the line disconnected. 

He dropped his phone onto the chair, and felt a squeeze to his hand. He gripped back tightly, not planning on letting go anytime soon. 

\---

Iwaizumi set the phone down on the desk in front of him and ran a hand through his short hair. He leaned back in the chair, titling his head to the side so that he could stare over at the rumpled pile of duvet and pillows, under which was buried his exhausted boyfriend.

It was testament to how tired Oikawa was that the phone call hadn’t caused the mess of blankets to stir at all. The young boss was typically a very light sleeper - it kind of came with the job description - and anything as loud as his annoying-as-hell ringtone should have gotten him awake and alert (and annoyed). 

Now Yaku had gone missing, right in the middle of the important job he was carrying out for Oikawa. Iwaizumi had a very bad feeling about this. 

They’d noticed things wrong with the smuggling route for a while now. He’d thought it was those bastard _snakes_ again, always trying to sneak into their territory, in their gross, _slimey_ ways. Some of their underlings working in the ring had had that scuffle with Nohebi just last week, and in response, they’d sent out Yaku to have a scout around. 

But Oikawa, always ten steps ahead, had his own suspicions. He didn’t tell his second who he was investigating, trying to take on everything himself - as usual - but Iwaizumi knew that the _idiot_ was going to meet with Ushijima. Again. He hated how his boyfriend came back a little angrier, a little more reckless and a little more broken each time. 

He knew that Oikawa had to know about the news that Kuroo had as soon as possible; they had to sort this out as soon as possible. Afterall, the information that Yaku had been tasked with collecting…

 _But_ , Oikawa was so exhausted. He’d barely slept this whole week. 

Heaving a quiet sigh, Iwaizumi crossed the room to the enormous emperor-size bed Oikawa had insisted on back when they’d first moved into this apartment. 

“ _If I’m the boss, Iwa-chan, I can have whatever bed I want._ ” Iwaizumi could never say no to that pout, even if he was always the first to protest whatever stupid decision his boyfriend was trying to make. It wasn’t his fault if that airhead didn’t listen. 

He smiled at the memory of a whiny Oikawa rolling all over the bed at the furniture store, demanding they take the _most expensive one in the whole store_ home - right now. Sometimes, he really couldn’t believe this idiot had the position he had. But, sometimes…

Floppy brown hair poked out of the duvet mountain, followed by dazed, sleep-filled eyes. Oikawa twitched his nose a little when it hit the cold air of the world outside his duvet. His face was still relaxed with the quiet of sleep. 

With the wrinkles he always complained about smoothed out by sleep, the tired man looked barely eighteen again, like he had back in highschool, when everything was simpler, better, _quieter_. When Iwaizumi wasn’t constantly watching Oikawa’s back, for the inevitable dagger he was always afraid would come. When they’d had an endless number of gentle mornings like this. When Oikawa’s smile had held no secrets except, just sometimes, ones just for Iwaizumi. 

“Go back to sleep, Tooru,” he murmured, keeping his voice pitched low. “It’s still too early. Three hours isn’t enough, even for you.” He stroked a gentle hand through his boyfriend’s bedhead, musing the soft curls. 

Oikawa hummed softly, long eyelashes fluttering shut. The dawn sun was stretching her gentle fingers through the cracks in their curtains, gently draping Oikawa in a warm, sunlit blanket of gold. The rain clouds from last night were slowly breaking up. 

Just a few hours more sleep - that couldn’t hurt. Everything could wait just a few more sweet hours of peace. He would tell him everything later when the darkness started to creep back over Oikawa’s soft honey eyes. For now, they were alone, and Iwaizumi could protect Oikawa from everything that lay beyond the door of their bedroom - just for a little while longer. 

\---

_Oh oh oh oh victorious  
Oh oh oh oh _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now somehow not an AU at all, these boys are such volleyball-bakas that we could not tear them away from their beloved sport.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading! We really appreciate comments 💕 - just a hint... See you next week!


	3. Akaashi-san’s Coffee Shop for his Wayward Volleyball Player

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Yaku-san, Akaashi gets involved, Bokuto pines, Kuroo is stressed, and a shady meeting takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Daishou's mad potty mouth - apologies but he could not stop swearing...

Akaashi opened his coffee-shop every day at the same time: a bright and painfully early 7am. He was duty bound to serve some sort of salvation to the poor working folk who struggled in every morning, their dark circles getting progressively darker throughout the week. 

Students would trickle in the hours after the break of dawn, armed with laptops and weighed down with books, nursing a headache from days of successive sleep-deprivation or a misguided hangover.

Akaashi would spend his day making coffee after coffee, sometimes slipping into the kitchen to make more pastries whenever they sold out, guiding his newest hire Yachi when she slipped up (which was unfortunately often, but Akaashi would never regret hiring her, he knew she would be great with the customers when she relaxed into her role a little more), and marvelling at Yukie’s incredible latte art skills. 

Akaashi was good at many things but the delicate skill of pouring the foam perfectly so as to create beautiful little works of art was absolutely beyond him. Yukie had magic hands. 

The coffee-shop was always warm, full of chatter when rush hour hit, peaceful in the quieter hours of the day, always filled with the rich smell of coffee and sweet pastries. With wide windows looking out over the busy street outside, the little shop was a perfect refuge in the bustle of the city. 

Akaashi loved his job. He loved his employees, he loved seeing the relieved smiles of his customers’ at their first sip of his coffee, he loved the conversations with his regulars (yes, _all_ of them). 

But he most certainly did not love the early mornings.

He needed to be at the shop by 6am every morning to begin the process of opening up. Pastries needed to go into the oven, coffee beans roasted, and the inventory checked. He never made Yachi or Yukie get in so early to help him set up - they were both college students, and Akaashi wasn’t _that_ evil. 

A few of his favourite regulars even got to slip in before opening time to grab a quick coffee, if their jobs started ridiculously early. Akaashi had a soft spot for those who suffer morning starts as early as his. 

But, let this be known, Akaashi was not a morning person. It was partially the reason why he’d grown to love coffee so much in the first place. He was something of a monster in the mornings. 

Once, the girls had come in early to help out for an event at which they’d been hired as catering and met early-morning-Akaashi for the first time. After that particular experience, the two had not made a single mistake all week. He had felt so bad about frightening them so much, he’d slipped them both the biggest box of pastries at the end of the week as something of a peace offering.

That is why, when he pulled his car into a small parking spot just next to the shop, he thought he was hallucinating. There appeared to be a man, lying crumpled on the pavement, just off in the small alley by the coffee-shop. 

Akaashi threw himself out of his car, not bothering to lock up, or even to turn the ignition off. He dashed towards the prone figure.

There was a lot of blood. 

Akaashi hurriedly placed his sleeve over his nose, trying not to gag. Most of it looked dried, having soaked through much of the man’s dark trousers. There was a jagged hole in the thick fabric, caked with more blood. 

He crouched down, hesitant at first, though his hand reached out naturally, wanting to help. Akaashi scanned the man for injuries.

Apart from the blood-soaked trousers, his cropped, light-brown hair was matted with blood too. The blood from a head-wound had run down the back of his neck, soaking his thin t-shirt, and curled round the side of his cheek to bloody his youthful-looking face. 

Akaashi noted the shallow rise and fall of his chest with relief. He reached over carefully to probe the back of his head. What he found was not promising. He needed to get help, and call for an ambulance.

He turned over the young man carefully, trying to place him into the recovery position. But, as Akaashi gently lifted the man’s arm, he spotted a dark tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was a leafy vine, curling around a dark bird, its wings spread in flight.

“Akaashi-san?” A voice called out from the direction of the shop. “Akaashi-san, are you around? You’ve left your car still running?”

Daichi’s head popped around the corner of the alleyway. His open features tightening immediately when he took in the scene before him. 

Akaashi had never seen Daichi in full professional mode before. He was the main reason the coffee-shop owner doled out coffee this early in the morning, always stumbling in before or after a twelve-hour shift, barely able to stay on his feet. Akaashi never had the heart to deny the pitiful, sleep-deprived police officer anything. 

“What happened here?” Daichi demanded, his dark eyes serious as he dropped down by Akaashi’s side. 

“Daichi-san,” Akaashi began, “I found him just now, as I was heading in this morning. He was just like… this-”

He gestured in the direction of the prone man with pale hands that were shaking slightly. He noticed quietly that they were spotted with blood. “I tried to move him into recovery. I was about to call an ambulance,” he explained.

Daichi regarded him carefully before nodding. “Good work, Akaashi-san.” He gave the other man a firm pat on the back. “You don’t need to worry about this any more. I’ll take him to hospital.”

Daichi turned his attention to the injured man, carefully cataloguing everything as he pulled out his phone to call for backup. 

“Daichi-san,” Akaashi hesitated. “If it’s easier, I can go with him to hospital. You have a shift now.” He glanced down at the phone in Daichi’s hand, so quickly the other man almost didn’t notice. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Akaashi-san!” Daichi’s eyebrows furrowed at Akaashi’s suggestion. “This _is_ my job.” He watched the other man’s expression as he quickly rang up the hospital. After a brief summary of the situation, they promised to be over in a few minutes. 

Turning his back attention back to Akaashi, he broke into a smile, “You’re the one with a cafe to get back to, desperate people to serve! Defender of the city in another way, am I right?” 

Daichi was ridiculously cheery given the situation. Akaashi supposed that doing this job day in day out changes a person’s view on what was _normal_. He gave the other man a tired smile, twisting his fingers together. 

“Of course, Daichi-san.” 

They waited for the ambulance together, beside the unconscious figure. Daichi kept monitoring his breathing, laying his jacket over him to try and ward away the early morning chill. 

_Slightly_ more than a few minutes later, the ambulance’s wails rang around the tiny alleyway, ringing piercingly off the damp walls. The paramedics jumped out immediately and gently pushed the two men out of the way. 

They watched on as the professionals checked the man’s vitals, discussing his status in low voices. A gurney was rolled out and they began to move him onto it. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Akaashi-san? That must’ve been quite a shock to find this morning.” Daichi placed a concerned hand on the other’s arm, a little worried to find it trembling minutely. 

“Yes,” Akaashi hesitated. “I am fine. Don’t worry about me at all.” He looked over Daichi’s shoulder at the paramedics carefully wheeling the injured man into the ambulance on a gurney. 

Akaashi’s face seemed rather blank, his eyes lacked their usual sharpness. Though he appeared unconcerned, Daichi knew the calm-tempered coffee-shop owner too well. His dark, arched brows were pinched, giving away his concern.

“I will let you know as soon as I have an update on his condition,” Daichi assured him, gripping his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “You can visit later if you like?” he offered.

Akaashi merely shook his head. “There’s no need for that. I wouldn’t want to bother the poor man with another stranger wanting to know his story.” He smiled carefully at Daichi, before turning away, seeming to head back to the shop. 

But, as Daichi clambered through the ambulance’s back door after their mysterious patient, he cast a glance back at the coffee-shop owner. Akaashi was standing on the pavement, a stiff, dark figure against the soft glow of the early morning sunshine. The policeman noted that he wasn’t watching the ambulance at all, but instead gazing off into the distance, rubbing distractedly at the blood staining his hands. 

_I hope Akaashi-san’s alright after starting his morning like that,_ Daichi thought, reminding himself to send someone over later to check on him. 

But, there was something niggling at the back of Daichi’s mind, but try as hard as he might, he could not think of what it was. 

_Ah, that’s it: I forgot to get my morning coffee._ Daichi bemoaned the thought of surviving a whole day on the sad instant granules that his office stocked. _That’s all._

But, for some reason, the niggling feeling that something wasn’t right just wouldn’t go away. 

\---

Bokuto bounced down the street, his arms swinging by his sides, and a slight spring in his step. It had been a good day, and to round it off, he’d decided to go and get some tea from the coffee shop he frequented. Yes, he knew that caffeine this late in the day wasn’t good for him, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t going for the beverage, but rather the person who served it to him. 

It wasn't a secret to anyone that he only went to the shop to see the owner. He’d originally been introduced to it by Kuroo, who said that his partner at the police station practically drank the place dry every time he was on shift. 

The first time he had visited, the black haired owner had been absent, and instead he’d been served by a small blond girl who had seemed terrified by him when he first came in. Kuroo blamed it on his over-the-top entrance, but he maintained that it had been Kuroo’s smirking that had intimidated the poor part-timer. 

He’d liked the tea though, and the small shop was in a convenient place, so he had gone back and that time the owner had been present. His disinterested eyes had seemed to exude exasperation at Bokuto’s energetic exuberance as he’d served his tea. He appeared rather reluctant to talk to him, but with Bokuto restlessly fidgeting around the counter, he’d eventually started up a conversation. 

Most of it had been teasing, pointing out Bokuto’s childish behavior and picking up on the small things that he did. Now these small conversations happened almost every day, whenever Bokuto could spare a moment. 

He was so happy that they were getting to know each other better, though Bokuto himself had never been able to answer the other man’s questions fully. To this day, he still couldn’t think of a good enough lie to tell Akaashi when he asked what his job was. What was he supposed to do? Stand there with his hands braced on his hips and announce to Akaashi: “I’m a member of a gang and frequently assassinate people. I’m a very proficient hitman.”

Akaashi would either give him one of _those looks_ which meant that he couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth, or he would look horrified and resolutely refuse to allow Bokuto access to his coffee shop ever again. And he wouldn’t be able to stand that. 

It didn’t take much to knock the wind out of his sails. He knew that his hyper and overactive personality could put people off, but he also knew that it annoyed people sometimes when he switched mood suddenly. The smallest thing could send his thoughts spiralling and leave him despondent and down, anything from missing a shot, to not getting to see his favourite coffee-shop owner when he went to get his tea. 

That’s why he was so pleased to see the familiar head of black hair behind the counter when he entered the coffee shop. 

He raised his hand in greeting. “Hey!”

At the shout, Akaashi’s head snapped up and he looked at Bokuto, wide-eyed, as if he’s just heard a gunshot. His expression softened a bit when he recognised that it was Bokuto who had walked in, but there was something guarded in his eyes. 

Bukuto settled himself with his elbows on the counter and watched as Akasshi turned to boil the kettle for his tea. It made him feel slightly smug that Akaashi had his order memorised - not that it was complex at all, but it still made him happy to think that Akaashi remembered him, even in a small way. 

Normally while the kettle was boiling, Akaashi would turn his attention back to Bokuto and begrudgingly make conversation (as much as he sighed and rolled his eyes, Bokuto thought he secretly might like those conversations, as getting a rise out of the tall man often made the corners of Akaashi’s lips turn up). 

Something was off today though. Akaashi kept his back turned and seemed to be distracting himself with menial tasks - he kept spooning some tea in the teapot and then removing it again. Akaashi was always meticulous about the amount of tea he added, but this was a bit too careful. 

Finally seeming satisfied with the amount of tea, Akaashi started pouring the boiling water into the pot, but, at the last moment, his hand gave a slight shake, and some of the boiling stream splashed onto him. 

He hissed in pain, letting go of the pot, which had luckily only been a couple of centimetres above the bench so clattered harmlessly back onto the countertop, and grabbed the back of his hand. 

Bokuto jumped a little at the sudden sounds. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Bokuto asked with some trepidation, his hands flapping uselessly, reacting to his concern. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Akaashi went to pick up the tea pot again. 

“You should probably run that under some cold water,” Bokuto inclined his head towards the sink. 

“No, honestly, I’m fine,” Akaashi shook his head. 

“I can literally see it going red from here! Come on, let’s run it under some water or it’ll only get worse.” Bokuto got up off his stool and rounded the counter so he could reach the sink. 

Turning on the cold tap, he ran the water over his own hand until he was satisfied that it was sufficiently chilled. Then he reached out and grabbed Akaashi’s wrist. The other man jerked his arm a bit in surprise, not expecting the sudden contact, but he acquiesced and allowed the insistent tugging on his wrist to draw his hand under the water running into the sink. 

“Do you have any clingfilm?” Bokuto let go of Akaashi’s wrist once he was satisfied that the other man wasn’t going to move it away from the sink.

“Hmn,” Akaashi seemed to have to shake himself out of a haze. “Erm - yeah, there should be some in the back - I just finished the roll out here. Hang on, I’ll go get it.” He drew his hand away from the tap. 

Bokuto reached out quickly, and, grabbing Akaashi’s wrist once again, jerked it back under the running water. “Woah, no you don’t! I’ll go get it.” 

“You can’t get into the back room though, it’s staff only and there’s a key code for the door.” Akaashi pointed to the door with his unoccupied hand, and Bokuto saw the small keypad on the wall.

“That’s fine, just tell me the code,” Bokuto looked at Akaashi expectantly. 

Akaashi just looked at him, unblinking. “Did you miss the part about employees only?”

“Nope - what’s the code?” Bokuto continued to watch Akaashi with wide, expectant eyes.

“I’m not giving you the code. Why are you even behind here? And what do you even need the clingfilm for anyway?” Akaashi turned off the tap and dried off his hand on a towel. “Ah, no! I’ve had it there for five minutes now and I can’t feel my fingers," he stressed, when he saw Bokuto move to turn the tap back on. “It’s not that bad, look.” Akaashi held up his hand for Bokuto to inspect. The skin was a little reddened, but other than that it didn’t look too bad. 

Bokuto was still worried though. Akaashi wasn’t a clumsy person at all, in fact, he was one of the most graceful people Bokuto knew (and that was saying something, considering _whom_ he knew), and it worried him a little to see the other injured like this. 

He was about to protest, when Akaashi held up a hand to stop him. “I really do have to serve some of the other customers, I’ll get you some clingfilm when I go on my break in half an hour, how’s that?” 

“Fine,” Bokuto grouched, “but then you have to promise to let me wrap your hand in it.”

Akaashi sighed, but he agreed to the strange request. “Oh, and I’ll make you some new tea, that one will have over-brewed by now.”

Bokuto watched as Akaashi made him a new pot of tea, and then handed it to him over the counter. He took it carefully, along with the proffered tea cup, and took them to a table at the back of the shop. He liked that table - it was out of the way, kind of secluded and he could sit there for hours if he wanted to. 

He sat and sipped his tea, stifling a yawn. He’d had a late night the day before and now he was beginning to feel it. Placing his folded arms on the table, he rested his head on them. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he could feel his eyes drooping and couldn't fight it anymore.

He drifted in and out of wakefulness. The soft sounds of the coffee shop were soothing and every so often he would catch soft snatches of Akaashi’s voice, as he fell into a doze. 

Suddenly, he felt a gentle pressure on his head, though his sleep-addled brain was too tired to comprehend what it was. Hair was brushed away from his forehead with gentle fingertips and he felt his consciousness start to return to him. 

He blinked his eyes open and re-adjusted to his surroundings. His neck was stiff from lying in an awkward position for so long, and he rolled it gently, working out some of the cricks. He could see Akaashi talking to a customer at the counter across the room.

He went to stretch his arms and as he moved them he felt his elbow bump against something. 

Looking down, he saw that there was a roll of clingfilm resting on the table. 

\---

“I have something for you.” Kuroo slapped the file down onto the desk.

He hated reporting in. He hated the unavoidable, tangible evidence of his _work_. He hated the stupid hours Oikawa would call him in to see him. This always just left him feeling a bit wrong, and needing a good long cuddle with Kenma and their (annoyingly named) cat. 

He also really hated that vapid smile that their boss always painted on his face. It hid the truly terrifying man underneath, which Oikawa always covered over with his stylish glasses and floppy, model hair. 

Truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Oh ho,” Oikawa raised an eyebrow lazily. “Something better than last time I’m hoping.”

Kuroo shifted uneasily, remembering the last time the two of them were in a room together. “Look, that was a quiet month. We were lucky, and the cops didn’t catch wind of anything we were doing.”

Oikawa hummed in acceptance, a slender finger tapping at the frame of his glasses. He looked decidedly bored. “There’s no such thing as luck, Kuroo-chan,” he admonished, then gestured, clearly hurrying Kuroo to speak. 

“The police are onto the smuggling ring,” Kuroo warned, tapping the folder on the desk. “I don’t know how they got the information; they’re keeping super hush hush about their informant. I smell a rat to be honest.” 

Oikawa gave out a long, drawn sigh. He removed his glasses and set them on the desk, rubbing a hand quickly over his eyes. 

_Were those dark circles the glasses were hiding?_ Kuroo narrowed his eyes. Their illustrious leader never let himself appear anything less than perfect. He was untouchable and took lengths to remain so. 

“I’ve known about this for a while,” Oikawa admitted. “A couple of months ago, I had my suspicions when all the numbers came in a little _out of place_.”

“There’s more,” Kuroo said grimly. “They think that the unsolved missing peoples cases are linked to this. It’s dozens of people, Oikawa-san.” His mouth twisted into a grimace just thinking about it. 

He slammed his hand down on the table between them, looking deep into Oikawa’s cold brown eyes, daring him to lie straight to his face. “This has nothing to do with us does it?”

“No.” The brown-haired man’s reply was blunt and steady. “None at all. I only found out about it tragically recently. I have been working to find out what exactly is going on since then.”

“Why have you kept this to yourself, Oikawa?” Kuroo pointed an accusatory finger at him, his expression thunderous. “Don’t you think this is important for the other higher-ups to know? We should be doing something about this. This is _wrong_ , even for us, this is _just wrong_!” Kuroo couldn’t help choking a little on those last words. _God_ , Daichi’s staunch belief in justice was rubbing off on him. 

“Why do you think, Kuroo? Can you use that big head of yours just for a second, or it all just hair?” Oikawa hissed out, waving a hand dismissively, knocking Kuroo’s hand away from his face. “We have a mole, idiot, and I can’t let them know I’m onto something. I already have my suspicions, anyway. They’ve been getting sloppier and sloppier over the last months and it’s only a matter of time before they reveal themselves completely.”

He grinned viciously, “I want to watch them _squirm_ , before crushing them completely. They’ll regret they ever betrayed me and for having the _audacity_ to do something as disgusting as this on my turf.” He hid it well, his mouth and forehead still soft, his hands relaxed, but Oikawa’s amber eyes burned with unrestrained anger. He let out a soft puff of barely controlled frustration. 

“So, who’s the little bird who let you in on this then, Kuroo-chan?” Oikawa pierced the dark-haired man with his gaze, brighter now without his glasses. 

Kuroo hesitated for the slightest moment. “Daichi’s the one working on the case. It’s too important to go to anyone else.” He couldn’t keep any secret from Oikawa for long anyway, and he didn’t think the boss would get rid of his police partner yet, not while he was still so useful. Not yet - 

Oikawa’s laugh rang around the small room. 

Kuroo shuddered internally. _God, this is why I hate talking to the boss._

Oikawa raised one arched eyebrow, a slim finger tapping thoughtfully against his lips. “Well,” he drawled out, a dark smile spreading across his expression, his eyes as sharp as a knife. 

“Suga-chan will need to know about this. His little game is up now.” 

\---

The office building was clean and sharp - all glass and metal edges, the kind of establishment that promised professionalism and expertise. Though what most people didn't know was the _type_ of professionalism and expertise the company offered. The clean exterior meant very little when you knew about the blood on the back step. 

Daishou flashed his wrist at the woman sitting behind the desk in the entrance and she gave him a swift nod, pressing a button under her counter to let him through the turnstile and into the main building. 

He didn’t make eye contact with any of the people passing him in the corridor as he headed towards the stairs. He kept his eyes trained on his feet, and silently cursed them all in his head when he sensed looks fixed upon his back. 

He took the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t going to risk taking the lift and being trapped with one of these bastards. 

Reaching the fourth floor, he was met with another security desk and yet another stoney stare. 

“Suguru Daishou here to see Ushijima- _san_ ,” he drawled out, putting as much venom into the suffix as he could. 

The man gave him an impatient look. “Do you have an appointment?”

_Would he fucking be here if he didn’t?_ “Yeah, I have an appointment. It’s at five” 

“Well, Daishou-san, you need to work on your time management, as it is currently five fifteen, which is well past the time you were given leave to see Ushijima-sama. His time is precious and he doesn’t appreciate it being wasted by the likes of you.” The man twisted his face into a sneer.

“What the fuck are you trying to say,” Daishou hissed back. 

“I am simply trying to suggest that you correct your tardiness in the future.” The man was clearly taking pleasure in riling him up, and as much as Daishou hated to admit it, it was working. 

This was why he despised this place, all these people lording themselves over him, like he was the shitting scum of the earth, when they were no better than he was.

“Are you going to let me though or not?” he tried to keep his tone level, but he could hear the anger seeping through. The fucker’d better let him through soon, he wasn’t the kind of guy who wouldn’t resort to his fists. 

“Of course, I just need to see your ID card and-” 

He was interrupted by a deeper voice coming from the open office doorway behind the desk. “It’s fine, let him through.”

“Of course, Ushijima-sama.” The man behind the desk bowed his head respectfully and waved Daishou past him. 

He slid past the desk and preceded Ushijima into the office, the other holding the door open. 

The office was bright and airy, with the wall behind the desk consisting of a huge window that stretched floor to ceiling. 

There was a plush, armed desk chair behind the desk and Daishou briefly considered rounding the desk and sitting in it, just to piss the other man off, but he knew better than to do that, so he dropped down into the wooden chair in front of the desk and crossed his legs. 

Ushijima took his time rounding the desk and settling himself into the chair, and Daishou knew he was doing it on purpose, but he was not a patient man and he was already in a bad mood. 

Ushijima steepled his hands under his face and rested his chin on them, looking at Daishou appraisingly. 

Daishou clicked his tongue. “So this is how you’re going to play it, is it? You’re going to give me the silent treatment until I crack and spill something to you?”

Ushijima didn’t answer, he just leaned back in his chair, lowering his hands with his typical measured movements. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and took a file out, sliding it over to Daishou. 

Daishou snatched it up and opened it, scanning the page and the attached picture before throwing it back down between them. “Yeah, what do you want me to say about it?”

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” Ushijima was apparently going to get him to admit to it himself; make him openly confess what they’d done and make himself look bad, rather than just stating what he wanted. This guy knew just how to get under Daishou’s skin and he fucking hated it. 

“You just want me to say it, don’t you.” Once again there was no response from Ushijima. He just sat there calmly, waiting. 

“Fine,” Daishou spat, “we didn’t finish the job you gave us. You fucking happy now?” 

“Why is he not dead?” Ushijima finally decided to speak.

“He got away from us,” Daishou shrugged his shoulders.

“He was far too gravely injured to get away from you.” No words were wasted as usual. Everything Ushijima stated was said with certainty, like the future was something he could control. “You dumped him while he was still alive.” 

“And how would you know that? Who’s reporting to you?” Daishou leaned forwards in his chair, uncrossing his legs. He squashed down the desire to bounce his leg nervously. He would not give anything away to this bastard. 

“I have my sources,” the permanently stoic Ushijima once again portrayed nothing on his face - his gaze was steely and absolute.

“Yeah well, so what if the little fucker’s not dead. It’s not like he’s going to be alive much longer anyway.” Daishou knew the damage they’d done, and while he would admit that they hadn’t killed the guy, losing that much blood wasn’t good for any man. 

“Then it will surprise you to learn that your _‘dead man’_ is currently in hospital,” Ushijima tilted his head to the side as he eyed Daishou.

Daishou could feel the tension building behind his eyes - he was going to get a headache. “And if you know so much about him, why did you not just finish him off yourself, hmn?”

“There were unfortunate circumstances surrounding his discovery. You were not exactly discreet about where you left him,” the slight crease in Ushijima’s forehead was the only sign of irritation he displayed, but Daishou could tell he wasn’t happy. _Ha, served the self-important fucker right._

“Well, if all you wanted was to call me here to reprimand me, then I think I’ll let myself out now,” Daishou made to stand up, but was arrested in place, when Ushiima reached out across his desk and grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. Daishou knew that was going to bruise, the fucker. 

“Don’t let this happen again.” The rest of the sentence was left unsaid, but Daishou could hear it clearly, _or you know what will happen._

Ushijima’s tone was dark and his eyes bored into Daishou. He wanted to break the eye contact, but he found he was unable to look away from those burning golden eyes, so instead he shucked his arm out of the grip, though he knew that if Ushijima hadn’t wanted to let him go, he would never have gotten out of that grip. 

He rolled his shoulders as he tried to collect himself. “It won’t.”

Ushijima gave a barely perceptible nod of his head and sat back down. Daishou knew he was dismissed. 

He wrenched open the door and stormed past the man on the desk, taking the stairs down two at a time, as he had on the way up. When he reached the front entrance, he saw that the woman on the desk was deep in conversation with someone. Like hell was he going to wait to get her attention so she could buzz him out. 

He approached the turnstile on the exit side of the desk and, planting his hand on the barrier, vaulted over the gate. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode out of the front door, ignoring the yells behind him. 

He’d parked his bike around the corner so he hurried around the block, pulling out his keys. Blessedly, the bike was still there - he wouldn’t have put it past Ushijima to have someone sabotage it. 

He pulled on the helmet he’d left hanging on the handle bars, and swung his leg over the bike. Slotting the key into the ignition, he flicked back the stand with his foot and revved the bike onto the road. 

He knew Ushijima wasn’t stupid, but he did have a bad habit of underestimating others, particularly those he considered to be beneath him. 

Daishou hadn’t made a mistake. He had never intended to kill that man, and it had been no coincidence where they’d dumped him. But he could let Ushijima think that he was just incompetent. 

He smirked. Shiratorizawa may not realise it, but when they were stepped on, what snakes did best was bite back. 

\---

_Double bubble disco queen  
Headed to the guillotine  
Skin as cool as Steve McQueen  
Let me be your killer king_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coffee shop AU returns! Sorry about this being a day late - it's been a rough week with assignments but there's some fluff to balance out the sad things!
> 
> Also happy Valentine's Day! Here's a loving snippet from our favourite pair:
> 
> \---
> 
> Ushijima sighed as he pushed open the door to his office. Tendou had delayed him at lunch, again. He should not be taking such long lunch breaks but the red-head would not leave him alone until he bought him a cookie. Every day. It was driving him mad.
> 
> When he drew closer to his desk, he noticed a slim box lying on it, cream paper with a elegant blue bow. Without any hesitation, Ushijima carefully untied the bow, and lifted up the lid of the box.
> 
> Inside was a dead thorny rose and a small note card, made of thick paper and written on with graceful script:
> 
> _Dearest Wakabaka,_
> 
> _I hope this finds you not well. You should have come to Aoba-Josai._
> 
> _All my hate,_
> 
> _Tooru x_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please do comment, we love them <3 We'll try to update every week but we're both final year uni students so we cannot promise anything - life is hard, dissertations are hard :(


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